


paradise/carnival ride

by singlemalter



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Codependency, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 08:55:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18753124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/pseuds/singlemalter
Summary: Dan’s bound to letthisbuild until it comes to a screeching halt as always;  until then, he will let Lewis wring every last drop of self-preservation out of him.





	paradise/carnival ride

It’s funny how they always pull each other impossibly close, like two objects at Planck length. They are a similarly unexplainable phenomenon: a five-time world champion from Stevenage and a Perth-bred kid in a midfield team walk into a bar, even though they both know you cannot have an opponent if you keep saying _yes_ , come closer, let me give you a bit of my time…

Daniel wonders if they would still beckon each other closer, as the moon does the tide, if he actually had a shot at beating Lewis. He wants to think he’d know better; deep down, he knows he’d bare his throat for Lewis anyway, no matter what the standings looked like. It’s just what Daniel does, he lets people—Jean-Éric, Sebastian, Max and now the coup de grâce, Lewis—carve living spaces into his heart and leave when they please.

So Daniel invites him inside, gets fucked with a shitty Magnum he can barely feel Lewis through, pretends to be asleep and listens to Lewis take a call from Miles and say sorry, man, there’s a girl with me, I can’t leave her alone, she’s fine, she just doesn’t—right, I’ll come over later, bro. 

It genuinely doesn’t bother him. This is how things are: there’s no space for driver-driver relationships in the paddock, nor are they seeking anything more than a quick fuck, no sentimentality or strings attached.

Even then—out of consideration or just shame, he’s not sure—Lewis tries to be subtle when he sneaks out of bed, but Daniel breaks the ruse and says, “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” Lewis says, and leaves.

* * *

It happens again, of course.

Lewis lets Daniel bend him over and fuck him in a dressing room, the wet sound of skin on skin inaudible over the show above them.

Their first time together was as dirty and impersonal as possible, but now he tilts his head awkwardly to kiss Daniel, hands clutching the edge of the makeup vanity for dear life. It’s a good distraction; if he looks forward instead, Lewis will see himself, his soul wide open so Daniel can gaze into the hollow nothing inside. The prospect terrifies him.

Daniel wonders when their relationship took a turn for the clandestine. He wonders if he’s always been on Lewis’ sights, or if he’s just one in a million men eager to worship the cross on Lewis’ back.

He reckons he’d rather not find out.

* * *

For Daniel, Baku is a maelstrom of egregious choices and graceless sex with the most graceful of men. He asks, nay, begs Lewis to ravish him, the lustrous second place trophy perfectly visible from the nightstand, mocking.

Daniel makes an effort to keep his breaths steady, teeth digging into his bottom lip to maintain the façade of detachment. He wants to convince Lewis he’s not desperate, he’s worthy; he doesn’t crumble, he rises. It’s an extremely flimsy charade, but who cares?

He allows himself a quiet sob when he comes, his ankles firm against the small of Lewis’ back. Afterwards, they lay limply on their sides, gazing at each other through sweaty curls and post-orgasm haze. 

“There’s something about a dick up your arse that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this world,” Daniel confesses, lips pressed to the top of Lewis’ head. It’s a shockingly intimate act, fundamentally incompatible with who they are, yet nothing feels out of place: colourless green ideas sleep furiously.

* * *

_You looked hot tonight_ , Daniel texts a man who’s likely in his third Met Gala afterparty of the night. _Come home?_

Home: noun. Not Monaco but Daniel’s arms; two hearts in wholly different ends of the championship standings allowing a one-time mistake to escalate; that little fold in spacetime where they get to leave scratches down each other’s backs as a substitute for sertraline.

 _I’m on my way_ , Lewis texts back. 

They will do this again and again until they crash and burn—I’ll bring you down with me, baby.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _The Dislocated Room_ by Richard Siken: “ _I've been in your body, baby, and it was paradise. I've been in your body and it was a carnival ride._ They want to stop but they can’t stop. They don’t know what they’re doing.”
> 
> Set Coachella–Met Gala 2019.
> 
> “You cannot have an opponent if you keep saying yes” is also a Richard Siken quote.
> 
> Miles is Miles Chamley-Watson (@fencer on Instagram), a fencer and model Lewis is friends with.
> 
> “There’s something about a dick up your arse that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this world” is a quote from the short film _Rubber Dolphin_.
> 
> “Colourless green ideas sleep furiously” is a sentence created by Chomsky to exemplify how a phrase can feel syntactically coherent, but have no meaning at all.
> 
> I’m on Tumblr as singlemalter if you want to talk about anything or just laugh at my stupidity.


End file.
